"She defied my judgment," he growled. "She dared deceive me."
"She fulfilled your command," murmured High Priest Demodocus, hesitant. "One hundred thousand leaves… and she wrote the name you gave."
Leonidas snapped around. "Then why do they transform into that name?"
He raised his hand.
"Burn them."
A brazier was brought forward, its flames stoked by sacred oils, its heat sharp and white-blue. The soldiers stepped forward with torches, ready to ignite the crates.
And then…
The flames recoiled.
The torches sputtered and hissed as they neared the first bundle. The moment the fire touched the leaves, a ripple of light burst forth—an unseen barrier, dome-shaped, humming with ancient resonance.
The leaves did not burn.
They glowed.
Like embers that had never belonged to flame.
"What sorcery is this?" Leonidas barked, stepping back.
A priest stepped forward, shaking. "My king… There is divine power upon them. Unless the gods themselves come and burn it, there is no way of destroying the leaves."
Leonidas stared, cold fury rising behind his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper that scraped the floor like iron.
"Hades."
He turned away, jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck trembled.
He growled. "It wasn't enough to bring the idol. She dares to summon the underworld's shadow into my kingdom—my kingdom."
"No mortal could summon him," said Demodocus, voice faint. "Perhaps… he came on his own."
Leonidas stood still for a long moment.
Then he looked toward the balcony.
Beyond the pillars, the sanctuary gleamed white in the sunlight.
But beneath it, at the edge of its divine order, a single black idol sat quiet and undisturbed, nestled between Poseidon's trident and Zeus's throne.
Leonidas's face twisted.
A while later;
Thea awoke to the scent of ink and medicine.
Her body felt like hollow clay, every limb aching, every breath pulled from some distant place. She blinked against the light filtering in through high windows—the infirmary, not the cloister.
And beside her, silent and watchful, stood her mother.
"The leaves…" Thea whispered, her voice barely more than air. "I finished…"
Her mother pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. "Yes, you did."
Then silence.
A silence thick enough to carry the weight of news not yet spoken.
Thea's fingers twitched. "What happened?"
Her mother hesitated but explained the situation.
Thea turned her head slowly despite feeling weak.
"I didn't mean to deceive," she murmured. "I only… I remembered. I wrote Zeus. I did. All of them." Her voice cracked. "I don't remember writing the name of Hades. Please believe me, mother."
Her mother didn't answer.
Then the door creaked open.
And in stepped Leonidas, robed in bronze-threaded white, flanked by two silent guards. He dismissed them with a gesture, then approached the bed.
Thea tried to sit up, pain pulling at her spine, but he raised a hand.
"Stay."
She watched him, wary, as a hawk watches the fall of a shadow.
"I have spoken with the priests," he said, his voice cool, even. "And I have seen the leaves myself. They will not burn."
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I believe you," he said, to her surprise. "The labor you endured… it was no trick. No mockery."
Thea blinked. "Then… you forgive me?"
"I do."
Relief struck her like breath returning.
But then he continued.
"And because I believe your heart was loyal, I will give you a task—not of punishment, but of cleansing."
He motioned behind him.
A servant entered, carrying a cloth bundle, bound tightly with rope, heavy as a tomb. The scent of ink and dry wood filled the room.
The leaves.
All of them.
"All names," Leonidas said slowly, "belong to the gods. But not all are meant to linger. You will take these to Lake Cephis, beyond the eastern forest. At twilight, you will cast them into its waters. One by one, or all at once—I do not care. But when the moon rises, they must be gone."
Thea looked at the bundle.
Her fingers remembered the weight of every stroke.
"Do you want them forgotten?" she asked.
Leonidas didn't answer immediately.
Then, with a faint frown, "I want them no longer here."
He turned to leave, the folds of his robe brushing against the stone.
"Rest today. Leave at dawn. The forest road will be guarded for you. You may return… when the water is still."
He left.
Her mother exhaled the breath she had held the entire time.
But Thea didn't move.
She looked at the bundle again—so tightly wrapped.
*
The wind sighed through the trees as twilight deepened across the still waters of Lake Cephis. Its surface was smooth as a mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple of unseen fish below.
Thea stood at the bank, the heavy cloth bundle resting in her arms like a sleeping child. Her body ached, and her fingers trembled—not from weight, but from the meaning sealed within.
She looked at the water, moonlight now touching its edge. She stepped forward.
One more step, and...
"Are you certain you want to throw that away, Princess?"
The voice came from behind her. Calm. Curious. Almost gentle.
She turned quickly.
A man stood there beneath a sycamore tree. Barefoot, lean, wrapped in a coat made of old cloaks stitched together. His hair was dark, unkempt, and his eyes the color of deep iron glinted in the low light. A crooked smile played at the edge of his lips.
Thea's brows furrowed. "Who are you?"
He held up his hands, easy and non-threatening. "No one, dangerous, Princess. Just a traveler. Name's Kerberos."
Thea hesitated. The name sounded like something she had heard somewhere, but couldn't quite put her finger on it.
He nodded toward the bundle. "You're throwing it in, Princess?"
She stiffened. "That's none of your business."
"I agree," he said, and crouched beside the water, trailing one finger in it thoughtfully. "But if you don't want it… I could take it. It will be of use to me."
"For what?"
He looked at her, grinning with a kind of boyish mischief that did not quite reach the ancient glint in his eyes.
"Plates."
"Plates?"
"Yep. I collect things people throw away—bone, bark, glass shards, old dreams. The ink on those leaves will still shine. I can flatten them, press them into dishes. Sell them in the black market stalls down in the lowlands. Not glamorous, but it feeds a man."
Thea's eyes searched his. "You want to eat from the names of gods?"
"I don't worship the gods that abandoned me, Princess," he said simply.
She clutched the bundle tighter.
But then—slowly—she loosened her grip.
"You're sure you want them?" she asked.
His smile faded just a little. "You were going to throw them away, Princess. But it will feed my stomach. I would be grateful if you could give me those."
Thinking about it, she handed them to him.
He accepted the bundle gently, like something sacred.
"Thank you, Princess," he said.
And then he turned—bare feet silent on the grass—and walked into the shadow of the trees, vanishing before he had taken five steps.
Thea stared after him, heart unsure.
Later, when she returned home and reported to her father, exactly, Leonidas narrowed his eyes. "You said his name was Kerberos and wanted those leaves?"
As she nodded, Leonidas stepped closer, almost gritting his teeth. "Do you know who that was?"
Thea blinked.
"There's only being in the world that would do that," Leonidas spat. "It's Cerberus, Not Kerberos. Not some wandering craftsman. That was the hound of Hades."
Thea recoiled, breath catching. "That was...? But he… he looked human."
"They say he can be," Leonidas said, jaw tight. "When he chooses to wear skin. But that was no mortal. That was the three-souled beast that guards the gates of death. And now he has the leaves."
Thea's heart pounded. "Why would his hound want them?"
Leonidas stared at her for a long moment.
Then his tone softened. Too quickly.
"You don't understand, Thea. Hades has always harbored enmity for my line. For what we are. For the fire we carry."
He stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.
"They use pawns, not armies. They trick the loyal. They whisper things into your dreams, make you think you remember lives you never lived."
Her lips parted, trembling. "So… this is about you? And Hades?"
Leonidas nodded gravely. "All of it. That idol, those leaves, the dog. It is all a ploy. To turn you against me and hurt me."
Thea looked away, not convinced by heart but still bowed slightly. "I apologize, Father. Master has taught me the spell of Eye of Truth, but I was too confused to think back then."